Despite everything, the world carried on and no-one thought anything had changed. People went about their lives, marking the special Sabbath as they should; the Romans kept an eye on the crowds, but they weren't seriously concerned: cut off the head, and the movement collapses. So maybe he wasn't a rebel like they made out; one man dying was a small price to pay for the peace and security they wanted to enforce. One man, for the greater good. They'd kill dozens for the same cause without hesitation.
The Authorities relaxed at the thought of a job well done. It had maybe been a bit in the balance at times, but he was gone now; the last thing they wanted was to annoy the Romans, and now they could concentrate on what was important. All that remained was to find out who had torn the Temple Curtain in two.
The followers kept quiet. Nothing for them to say or do; everything at an end. They recognised when the battle was lost.
In the grave, where Joseph of Arimathea had placed him, lay the body of Jesus. The stone was across the door, and nothing stirred. Why should it? Dead is dead, and the only thing remaining was for the women to come to prepare the body properly once the Sabbath was over. They alone made plans; what had been started at Bethany, just a few short days before when the woman had anointed the living Jesus, would be completed on his dead body as it lay in the tomb.
No-one was waiting. No-one was expecting. No-one thought that there was anything to wait for. With Jesus' last cry, it seemed all was lost - or won, if you opposed him - one man's life for the greater good.
And yet......
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